Beyond the Tide
by Sandra Evans
Summary: A missionary attempting to reconcile himself with the ways of a seductress of the sea, and a mermaid attempting to forge a life on land. The story of Philip and Syrena told via a series of one shots, Post-On Stranger Tides.
1. Chapter 1

It was wet and dark and damp, and his side burned like hell fire. His eyelids were heavy, too heavy to open, and the moisture in the air settled heavily on his tongue. He felt a whisper of a touch ghost across the skin of his forehead, unbearably cool and tender, and he groaned in his delirium. There was a soft, lilting voice speaking words he could not understand, but nonetheless caused comfort to wash over him like the waves across the sand. The darkness rose up to embrace him, and he knew no more.

The next time he woke, the fire in his side had eased and was replaced by a dull, pulsating ache. There were no soft, whispered words this time, no tender hand against his face. He managed to open his eyes and could make out little in the gloom save for a pool of dark, murky water to his left, and a roof of rock above his head.

Frowning, Philip pushed himself to a sitting position with a low groan, grimacing when an electric current of pain shot through his wounded side. He glanced downwards and saw that his injury had been bandaged, and absently wondered where he was, what had happened. Then, all at once, the memories had crashed over him.

He remembered Syrena, tied to a post, suspended somewhere between the air and the water in her own private hell, remembered fighting to be free of the mayhem of the fountain of youth, of the way his blood had pooled beneath his fingers as he dragged himself along the jungle floor, desperate to save the God-sent miracle of a creation that was said to be a creature spawned of hell. He remembered the terror he had felt upon seeing her near-lifeless state, the way relief had washed over him when he had seen her eyes open. He had been happy to die then, since his life had been given for hers. And then she had pressed her lips to his, and there was water surrounding them, and he remembered no more.

He glanced around him, noting that his body had been cushioned by the rock floor by a bed of dried seaweed, taking in the battered, rusted dish covered in slices of raw fish a handbreadth away from his form. She had saved him, had cared for him. He moved his hand to press against the wound that should have sent him to meet his maker and was filled with awe for the mermaid's tenacity, for her concern.

He glanced towards the murky pool of water, hoping to see her pale face with those large, hazel eyes of hers watching him from just above the waterline, but she was not there. Philip suddenly felt panic reach its icy grip around his heart. He had protected her, had cut her free from the post, had saved her life. Perhaps she had only remained long enough to ensure that she had repaid him in full- a life for a life.

"Syrena!" he called, and watched the water for a ripple of movement. There was none. "Syrena!" he shouted again, but to no avail. The mermaid was not lying in wait for him beneath the water. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes before lying back down on the bed of seaweed that she had fashioned for him, suddenly spent and drained. The wound in his side was burning again, and suddenly he longed for the oblivion of sleep, desperate to be free of the fear that had begun to gnaw at him.

And then… the sound of something breaking through the surface of the water. Philip's eyes snapped open and he quickly turned to the sound, and was rewarded by the sight of Syrena's lovely face emerging from the water.

"Syrena," he breathed, his heart in his throat, his pulse racing. He held out a hand to her, and his heart stopped when he saw her simply stare at it for a moment. And then she pulled herself up the ledge, lifting her great, coral colored tail from the water and laying it behind her on the stone. He watched, enraptured, as the fin slowly began to split in two, as the tail shed its scales and morphed into two long, slim, soft, white legs.

And then she was crawling forward, and her cool, damp hands were around his, and she was bringing his knuckles up to brush against her face, her fathomless hazel eyes boring into his. "You are well," she said softly, as though she were surprised, and then she gently trailed her fingertips over his forehead, his nose, his closed eyelids, his lips. And a foggy part of his brain remembered a similar touch during his delirium.

And then she was pressing her body against the length of him, her head resting on his chest, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, her legs tangling with his. He felt her fear in that embrace, her fear that his soul had departed his body, her relief that he was whole once more. "Philip," she whispered his name into his neck, and he could feel the moisture of her tears there as well. Not tears of love this time, or of sorrow, but of relief. Not once, but twice, he had made a mermaid cry.

He ran his hands through her thick, wet hair, ran his fingers over her bare back in comfort. And suddenly he was aware of her bare breasts crushed against his chest, of the light dusting of hair between her legs tickling his thigh. He swallowed hard and tensed, and prayed not for the first time for forgiveness of his impure thoughts towards this young mer-girl. But now was not a time for him to push her away, even to preserve his mental and spiritual well being. Now was a time to hold and cherish and comfort. To love and be loved.

So Philip wrapped his arms around her, whispering meaningless words of comfort into her ear, kissing her temple and holding her tight against his battered, weak, wounded body. He sent up a prayer of thanks for her presence, for her love, and closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Slowly, Syrena's shoulders ceased to shake, and with a deep breath and a sigh she drew away from his body and drew herself into a sitting position.

Her face was still wet with her tears, and Philip was profoundly touched that she felt comfortable enough with him to let those precious tears fall- the same tears that so many of her sisters had died for, the tears that so many men had killed and been killed for. She trusted him, he realized, fully and implicitly. The realization made his heart skip a beat, and he pushed himself up so that he could wipe those precious tears away from her lovely face with his thumb.

"You are well," she murmured again, her voice filled with conviction this time, as though by lying beside him and feeling his heartbeat she had been assured of his well being.

"I am," he replied with a smile, and saw her lips twitch upwards into a small smile of her own.

"I was frightened," she admitted softly, and Philip said nothing, merely ignored the pain in his side long enough to scoot closer to her and cup her soft cheek with his calloused palm.

"Thank you," he murmured, and she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. They sat like that for several heartbeats before she drew away from him and lifted the rusted dish at his side.

"You must eat," she said, and lifted a sliver of raw fish to his lips. Despite himself, Philip's face scrunched up at the thought of eating what she offered, but looking into those large, concerned eyes of hers, he forced himself to open his mouth and take what she had caught for him. It was salty on his tongue, with a strange, mushy yet chewy texture, but he managed to swallow it and take the second piece that she held ready for him.

After the fourth piece, his empty stomach got the better of him and he paid no more attention to the odd texture or the taste, and he hate until his belly was full. At that point, his eyelids grew heavy once more, and he swayed a little where he sat. And then Syrena's soft, white hands were easing him down onto the makeshift bed, and her lips were pressed against his brow.

"Rest," she murmured softly, and he could feel her soft hands stroking his temple, could feel her body lowering to lay against his once more, her arms tightening about his waist, her lips planting a cool kiss against his chest.

And then he was drifting once more, his arms full with his mermaid, and his heart full of gratefulness and love.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where are we?" Philip asked as Syrena was busily retying the bandage she had made from his shirt around his waist. His wound was healing nicely; in fact, it was nearly well enough for them to make the journey back to the land. What would happen once she brought him to the shore was a mystery to her, however. He had said nothing of a future together as of yet, and so she had remained silent on the matter as well.

"In a cavern, beneath the water," she replied, tying the final knot around his waist and glancing up to meet his gaze. He had that dark, hooded look in his eyes again, and his face was flushed as it had been on their trek through the jungle whenever the shirt she had been wearing had shifted to reveal her breasts or thighs. On their journey together, she had taken to buttoning the shirt high against her neck for his comfort, but there was no shirt to cover her with now, and she knew that her nakedness disturbed him.

She did her best to move her hair to cover herself, and she saw his lips twitch into a repressed smile when he noted her efforts. He reached out and lightly tugged at a strand of her hair, and she smiled as she stepped closer to him. She was proud of her progress learning how to walk; she could take several steps now with ease. Her balance had improved, and the muscles in her legs were strengthening with every passing day.

Philip was a patient teacher, there to catch her whenever she fell and whispering words of encouragement into her ear when she was so frustrated all she wanted to do was dive back into the water and bask in the luxury of having a tail. She glanced down at her feet, still finding it hard to process that those strange, bony forms were a part of her body.

"How much longer will we stay here?"Philip asked, and Syrena glanced up at him, and then quickly averted her faze, her eyes drawn to the bandage at his waist. She fingered the material for a moment, and she fought to keep her face impassive, to keep her fear and worry about what was doubtless to be their inevitable separation hidden from him.

"A few days. Maybe less," she replied softly, and then his hand was beneath her chin and he was lifting her face so that her eyes were meeting his.

"And then what?" he asked softly, and Syrena's throat went dry as she contemplated all of the possible implications of his question. She said nothing, merely stared at him as she attempted to sort through her jumbled thoughts and emotions. "What will happen with us?" he pressed, the look on his face infinitely kind and tender.

Syrena took in a deep breath and glanced away. "What do you want to happen?" she asked softly, swallowing hard.

"I want you to marry me." His words confused her, and her brow furrowed in thought as she attempted to place the word that he had used. But try as she might, she could not think of what it could mean.

"What is marry?" she asked, glancing up to meet his part shocked, part amused gaze.

"Marriage," he corrected with a smile, and he lightly stroked her cheek. "It is what happens when a man promises to love and protect a woman until the day he dies, and a woman promises to love and cherish and follow that man for the rest of her days."

Syrena swallowed and cocked her head to the side in question. "You want me to follow you… to the land?" she asked, and Philip nodded his head. "But I will die without the sea," she replied, and Philip leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She recalled the mermaids at the pools before the fountain of youth who had perished of dehydration; recalled the stories she had heard since she had been a child of what would happen to a mermaid if she lingered too long on land.

"We'll build our home near the shore, so you can swim in the sea every night," he replied. "And you can visit your sisters whenever you want to," he added, and Syrena frowned up at him. It was a feasible solution, she realized, one that would allow her to live in both worlds.

"You have given this a lot of thought," she replied, and he laughed lightly. His forehead pressed against hers, and she could feel his warm breath against her skin. She felt him nod in agreement with her assessment, and she took in a deep breath as she thought over his words.

She loved this man, Philip Swift, in a deeper, different way than she loved any of her sisters. She wanted to continue to love him for the rest of her life; she never wanted to live without him. So wouldn't this strange thing he called marriage fulfill her desires, especially if she was nearby the ocean and was free to visit her sisters as she pleased?

"I want to marry you," she said softly after a time of thought, and her heart stuttered when she saw his eyes twinkle, his dimples deepen, his mouth stretch into the widest smile she had ever seen light upon his handsome face. And then his hands were in her hair, and his mouth was on hers, and it was different- oh, so different- from the last time that they had kissed. Gone was the edge of fear and desperation, and in its place was a heady passion the likes of which she had never experienced.

His mouth was hot and insistent against hers, his hands fisting in her hair and creating a pleasurable pulling sensation. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lost in the sensation as his tongue brushed against hers, as one of his hands roved from her hair to press insistently against her lower back and crush her against his hard, tall form.

There was warmth pooling at the pit of her stomach, warmth that made her hitch a leg over his hip on pure instinct and wriggle that suddenly hot and pulsing place between her legs against his groin. It felt good, so good, and so she did it again, and felt Philip groan into her mouth. She felt him take a step, stumble, and suddenly they were on the ground, her legs on either side of his waist, his hands resting on the swell of her hips, his mouth pressed against her neck.

Syrena closed her eyes as a wave of pleasure rolled over her when he lightly nipped at the delicate flesh there, and she rolled her hips against his again, nearly crying out at the sensation. Gasping, she went to do it again, but his hands on her hips were suddenly restraining her rather than encouraging her, and his mouth had lifted from her skin.

His skin was flushed; his eyes dark and hooded, and suddenly Syrena understood the way he had felt all of those times that he had given her such a look before. He had wanted this, had wanted her, had wanted the delicious friction of their hips rolling against one another's and the hot, insistent touches of hands upon flesh. So then why had he stopped her? Her blood was pumping, that strange, new ache between her legs was throbbing, and the only way for it to stop was for her to move against him and feel that wave of pleasurable heat. She tried to roll her hips again, but his hands were firm against her hips, stopping her from moving.

"Philip," she panted, and she saw his resolve to hold her back begin to crumble. Taking the opportunity, she leaned forward to press another kiss against his lips, and felt his mouth soften and mold to hers, felt his hands on her body tighten. When she went to deepen the kiss, however, he broke away from her and lifted her off of his body, gently setting her down on the floor of the cavern.

Syrena sucked in a deep breath, feeling a stinging behind her eyes as an unfamiliar emotion washed over her. Rejection. Humiliation. She swallowed hard and blinked away the unshed tears, forcing her face to appear impassive.

"I can't, Syrena," Philip groaned, apparently seeing her hurt despite her best efforts to keep it hidden. "It is a sin," he said, and then hastened to explain the unfamiliar word without her even needing to ask. "Something bad."

"But… it feels good. How is that bad?" she asked, and saw Philip touch that strange silver symbol he wore against his chest, saw his eyes close. He had explained to her once that he was praying to God in moments like these, but Syrena could not understand the concept. There was life and there was death, and there were the things of the earth and sea. She could not understand how he conducted silent conversations with a being that she could not see or hear.

"It feels good because God created that act to be enjoyed by a man and woman once they are married. But until a man and woman marry, coupling is a sin," he attempted to explain, his face ardent, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

Syrena frowned as she thought about it, remembering what he had said about marriage. And then, her face brightened. "I promise to love you, and cherish you, and follow you for the rest of my days. Now we are married," she said, and then she reached for him again.

But Philip set her away from him again, and when he chuckled, the sound came out strange, as though his laugh was being strained and strangled. "No, Syrena, there is more to it than that. We need to be married in a church- a place where people worship God, by a pastor- a man who represents God's blessing on the marriage, with several witnesses."

Syrena mulled it over in her brain, and suddenly longed for her uncomplicated life beneath the waves. There were so many things in Philip's world that she could not understand, even when he did his best to explain them in ways that she should be able to grasp. "I do not understand," she murmured softly, and saw Philip close his eyes in frustration.

"I love you. You love me. We want to spend our lives together. That should be enough to make us married. I do not understand who God is, or how promising those things to each other in a church can make us married while promising them here cannot. The things we say to each other are true, no matter where we are."

Philip's hand was cupping her cheek again, and his sigh was heavy. "Looking at it through your eyes, you are right. But there are certain rules that we have to live by on land that don't seem to make very much sense, and this is one of them."

Syrena bit her lip, and met Philip's ardent gaze. "But we are not on the land right now," she murmured softly, and reached out to trail her hand down over Philip's neck, over the taught muscles of his belly. His hand caught hers just before she reached the waist of his pants, and Syrena suddenly wondered if a man looked any different from a woman when he was naked. Philip had never allowed her to see him, and had hidden her face when the crasser of the pirates had placed their hands inside of their trousers while staring at her, so she was unsure.

"Please, Syrena. Please," he pleaded, and Syrena glanced away from him and sighed deeply. It was important to Philip for her to follow his traditions, and so she would. If he could ensure that he lived by the sea for her happiness, she could follow his rules about marriage for his.

She nodded, and Philip smiled at her before lightly kissing her forehead. "Thank you," he murmured, and Syrena managed a slight smile for his benefit. But she couldn't help but think that life on land would likely be a great deal more difficult than what she had previously thought.

But he was a man who had given his life for hers, who cared about her more than he cared about himself. He loved her more deeply than any of her sisters had ever loved her before, and she cared for him more than she could put into words. She could not imagine her life without him. Besides, she was a mermaid; a sailor's worst nightmare, a legend upon the land. If Blackbeard could not wring a tear from her eye, if she could survive the long trek inland, she could brave any amount of ridiculous traditions that life upon the shores called for. She would learn, and learn well, and she would thrive.


	3. Chapter 3

Philip sifted the sand through his hands and tossed his head back, basking in the light and the warmth. For too long, he had been cooped up in the darkness of an underground cavern and he had missed the sun. The brightness of the light stung his eyes, but he welcomed the sting. Turning to glance behind him, he saw Syrena laying in the surf, her head and torso in the sand, her finders buried in the soft, grainy stuff, her eyes were closed and a smile rested upon her lovely face, while her tail remained in the waves. She had missed the sun as well, Philip noted as he watched her sunbathe.

He plopped himself back down into the sand, taking his cue from the mermaid, and allowing the warmth and the sun to wash over him. After a moment, he felt a damp, sand covered hand fit itself into his palm, and he glanced down to see that Syrena had extended her arm from where she was lying to clasp his. He smiled at the sight and gently ran his thumb over the soft, white skin of the back of her hand, and watched as her own smile widened in response.

Something about their position struck him then, him holding her to the land, she lying betwixt and between the shore and the sea. He was her anchor in his world, he knew, the only thing that kept her in the land of men. What a sacrifice she was making for him, letting go of all that she knew to embrace the ways of a species that hated her kind.

"I can feel you staring," Syrena murmured, drawing him from his reverie, and Philip squeezed her hand. He entertained telling her how beautiful she was for a moment before casting the idea aside. She knew how lovely mankind found herself and her sisters. She knew that her kind was irresistible to the human male. For him to compliment her in such a way would merely remind her of something that she was already aware. Better to compliment her on her strength, her kindness, her fortitude. Those would be words that she would appreciate.

They lay in silence for a time, basking in the warmth of the early morning, until the sun grew oppressive rather than pleasant and the sweat began to bead on their brows. Feeling lightheaded, Philip pushed himself to his feet and glanced down at the dozing mermaid lying in the surf. Her dark hair framed her face like a halo, and one of her hands had curled beside her cheek. She looked almost angelic as she slept, as though God had created her to be a winged seraph rather than a fish-tailed daughter of the deep.

"Syrena," he murmured, leaning down to lightly shake her shoulder. Her eyes opened slowly, squinting in the sun before turning to rest upon his face. "We need to find some fresh water," he murmured, tasting the salt on his lips and the parch at the back of his throat.

Syrena blinked her large eyes before nodding, and used her arms to drag her tail out of the shallow water and into the sand. Philip stared, transfixed as he always was, as her tail slowly morphed into human legs and the scales on her breasts and arms sloughed off. "Humans cannot drink sea-water. I had forgotten," she apologized, and Philip smiled before drawing her against him and pressing his lips to her temple.

He then took her hand and led her through the sand dunes up to the jungle, slowing to meet her gait as her steps became slow and her knees began to wobble. He was about to lift her into his arms when he saw the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination in her eyes, and he realized that his help at this point would do nothing but shame her. She was a proud mermaid, proud and strong and fierce, and she would not welcome his interference. He knew that it was sheer willpower that kept her moving one foot in front of the other as they began to make their way through the jungle in search of water, but he resolved not to offer her his assistance until she asked for it.

Eventually, she slowed and then stopped, hanging onto his arm for support as her legs trembled. Taking his cue, Philip swept her up into his arms and continued walking, determinedly ignoring the fact that the mer-girl was very, very naked. "You did well," he complimented her without taking his eyes off the scenery, and he felt her relax into his arms, felt her head fit against his shoulder.

He had not walked long when he heard the babbling of a nearby stream and so he followed the sound to its source. It was a small stream, to be sure, with water that barely rose high enough to cover the rocks, but the water was fresh and pure and sweet. Philip drank his fill and used the stream to wash the sand from his body, averting his gaze when he saw Syrena begin to do the same. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stop moving, saw her attention become riveted elsewhere. Philip turned in the direction that she was looking, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a skeleton propped against the rocks, a sword through its sternum.

"Don't look at it," he murmured softly, coming to stand beside Syrena and attempting to draw her face away from the gruesome scene, his protective instincts kicking in. However she drew away from him, looking puzzled and entirely unaffected.

"My sisters drag men to their deaths; I have tasted human flesh. Why should bones bother me?" she asked, and Philip felt a chill run up his spine at her words.

She had such large, pretty, innocent eyes, a pale face full of sweetness. She looked so fragile, so _human_ that Philip had forgotten what her kind, what she, was capable of. He had forgotten the fangs, the slitted eyes, the talons on her hands where fingernails should be. Looking at her now, staring unperturbed at a human skeleton that likely would have made a human girl cry, he was reminded of how fierce she had been the first night that he'd seen her. And he found himself unable to avoid wondering how many men she had killed in her lifetime.

She must have seen some of his shock, some of his trepidation, because her face softened and she stepped forward to lightly touch his arm. "I did not eat anyone you know," she said softly, as though the words should reassure him. Instead, Philip felt his stomach heave.

"But you do eat men?" he asked, his voice coming out high and forced even to his own ears.

"Mermaids live a very long time, Philip. I have been alive since before the English came to this land. In all those years, I have eaten some human flesh," she replied, and Philip could merely stare at the girl who didn't look a day over twenty in shock. "I do not like it though. It is too bitter," she added, almost as an afterthought, and Philip swallowed.

"Oh," was all that he could manage to say, and Syrena crossed her arms over her chest.

"I do not like their fear either. Or their tears. It makes me sad. Too sad to eat," she continued, and Philip took in a deep breath. Well, at least there was that. Her sisters had seemed to genuinely enjoy the hunt, had seemed to find excitement in the screams of the men. Syrena, at least, was bothered by the act of killing.

Syrena had turned back to the skeleton again. "My body bothers you?" she asked, and Philip coughed, wondering at the turn of conversation and glancing away from the bare flesh she had no qualms about displaying.

"Not exactly," he replied. _Tempts me is a more apt description._ She raised a brow and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, and Philip glanced away. "Somewhat," he amended, and Syrena nodded.

Philip heard a rustling, and he turned to see the girl pulling the shirt off of the skeleton. He took a step back, and his mouth dropping open. A heartbeat later, Syrena was fastening the ties of the dead man's shirt about her body, and when she saw Philip's consternation she frowned. "You do not like me naked, and he does not need it anymore," she said by way of explanation, and Philip swallowed. Her callous practicality was unnerving.

His mind scrambled for something intelligent to say that would downplay how nervous he had become, and his eyes landed once again on the shirt she had stripped from the dead man. "We should get you a dress," he murmured, glancing over the stained, tattered article and realizing that he would never be able to take her into civilization looking the way that she did.

Syrena cocked her head to the side. "Dress?" she asked, and Philip swallowed. Of course, it was men that her sisters drowned, and men that she had kept company with in her time on land. She had learned the words 'shirt' and 'trousers' but had yet to have an opportunity to learn about women's wear.

"Yes. A dress. The clothing a woman wears," he explained, and Syrena frowned, apparently attempting to process the information.

"Like what Angelica wore?" she asked, referencing Blackbeard's daughter, and Philip winced.

"Not…exactly. Angelica wore clothes like a man," he replied, and watched helplessly as Syrena's frown deepened.

"I do not understand your clothes. Clothes for women, clothes for men. Different types for different reasons. Your lives would be easier without them," she groused, her brow furrowed, her frustration plain in her countenance.

Philip chuckled and shook his head. "A mind as unsullied as Eve's before the serpent," he murmured with a fond smile, which widened at Syrena's questioning look.

"Eve was the first woman, created from the rib of the first man, named Adam," he explained, and silently thanked God for the opportunity to begin to witness to the woman that he would soon take to wife. "God created Adam in his image, and saw that man was lonely. So He sent Adam into a deep sleep and withdrew one of his ribs, which he turned into a woman. Adam and Eve were free of sin, and guile, with hearts pure as children's. They did not need clothes, because they did not know that they were naked. God created a wonderful garden for them to live in, but told them there was one tree in the garden that they were not allowed to eat from," Philip began, but paused when he saw Syrena roll her eyes.

"How silly. Man will always take what does not belong to him. If your God is so smart, he should have known better," Syrena replied, and Philip sighed.

"God knew that it was a possibility, but he wanted to give Adam the choice to obey him. He wanted Adam to prove that he loved him," Philip attempted to explain, and Syrena shook her head.

"But Adam ate the fruit," Syrena replied, and Philip sighed before nodding.

"A serpent tempted Eve, and told her that she would have the knowledge of God if she ate the fruit. Eve then convinced Adam to eat it as well. Once they had eaten the fruit they realized that they were naked and were ashamed, so they covered themselves. When God saw what man had done, he sent them away from the garden and vowed to never let them return," he finished, sensing that his opportunity to begin sharing the stories of God had gone awry.

For a moment, Syrena was silent. Then: "So, humans wear clothes because they ate a bad fruit and are ashamed?" she asked, and Philip let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

_Lord…_He could not find the words to accompany his silent plea. That had not been the lesson that he had intended her to take from the re-telling of Genesis 1, but what else could he have expected? "Sort of," Philip managed to reply, and noted that Syrena cast her eyes downwards.

"You are disappointed in me," she said softly, and Philip shook his head.

"No, never you," he replied, cupping her face between his hands."I am disappointed in my own inadequacy to explain God's word to you," he said, and watched as her eyes clouded in confusion before she sighed and managed a slight smile.

"You are strange," she replied, and despite himself, Philip chuckled.

"Blackbeard certainly thought so," he murmured wryly, and was rewarded by her lips twitching into a slightly wider smile.

"Come. Enough talk. We must find you a human settlement," Syrena said, and took his hand. Philip followed her willingly, and suddenly realized that he would be doing so for the rest of his days.


End file.
